“I could eat a horse,” Melissa said as she busied herself in the kitchen.
Roarke surveyed her apartment. “Nice place.”
“Not as nice as yours.”
He made a short, soft sound. “So?”
“I’m just jealous.”
“Don’t be. It’s my mother’s place, remember?”
They decided on coffee, and she started brewing. She rubbed her arms again. “I’m going to put on a different sweater. This one isn’t helping.”
“Shock.”
“What?”
He came around the corner and cupped her shoulders. “Shock. You saw a boy get killed today.”
Her hands found his chest, and his arms looped around her back for a hug. “Mmm. Thank you. That feels better.”
Melissa acknowledged to herself it felt way too good. As he palmed her back, rubbing until the heat began to bloom, the fire poured into her loins as well. She wanted something more, something different from food.
“I wish I could have said something or done something to keep that boy from getting killed. I just froze. I couldn’t do a damned thing,” she said softly as tears rushed to her eyes and blurred her sight. She struggled, fought the tears with everything she had.
“It’s not your fault. The van was going too fast. We’re lucky we made it out of that one alive ourselves.”
“Did you feel like this when you were in the war? Was it like this at all?”
“Yeah.” His voice went hoarse. “It was. More than once.”
“I’m new to mayhem.”
“We all are at some point. Like I said, give yourself some slack.”
“Jilly is going to be devastated. I should try and call her.”
“Do you have her number?” he asked, frowning.
“No.” She sighed. “God, what is going on in this town? Is it my imagination or is something strange happening in Simple? I mean, I can’t believe I’m even asking this, but doesn’t it seem bizarre to you all the things that have happened this month?”
His voice, so deep and soft, stroked her senses. “Coincidence.”
“Maybe not.” She stepped away, retreated back to the counter. “Jilly was right about my dream. I dreamt about your mother.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Melissa swallowed hard, knowing he wouldn’t take this well. “You don’t look anything like your mother.”
He winced as if someone had poked him. “Yeah, I know. I look like my father.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
He sat down at her tiny dining table and leaned back in the chair, his ankles crossed and thumbs hooked in his jeans belt loops. “I’m not anything like him.”
She sensed the undercurrent in that statement, but decided she wouldn’t dig for meaning in it right now. Instead she explained her dream, sans the lovemaking.
His frown turned incredulous. “That’s crazy.”
What did she expect from Mr. Skeptic? “I’m telling you what I know.” She swallowed, her mouth dry as hell. The coffee maker gurgled and sputtered behind her. “Roarke, has it ever occurred to you that your mother is ... that maybe something terrible happened to her and she didn’t run away?”
His head snapped up, as if she’d said his hair was on fire. “She’s run away and doesn’t want anyone to find her. That’s all.”
Damn it, Roarke. She wanted to shake him, to make him see what she felt and believed. Intuition and common sense said it would push him away from her. Despite their differences, she didn’t know if she wanted to push him so far that he’d abandon their friendship.
“Okay. Why don’t we just can this conversation for now.” She rubbed her arms again, unable to conquer the chill.
She busied herself in the kitchen, but then he came around the counter and stood next to her. His clean scent teased her nose. Melissa felt like a soda can, shaken up and ready to pop. Her nerves pinged, and her body was restless for movement. So she moved too fast, and as she unloaded the dishwasher, she dropped a glass and it crashed to the floor.
“Fuck!” The curse came from her before she could stop it. She didn’t care, and she doubted he did.
Before she knew it, he was by her side and helping her clean up. With a dustpan and sweeper they managed the mess, then she vacuumed to make certain every last glass sliver was accounted for.
“You okay?” he asked again after she’d put the vacuum away.
She abandoned food and wandered past him to the small couch across the room. “What I saw keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over.”
“That’s normal.”
“I want it to stop.”
“When it starts, even if you have to say it out loud, say stop.”
“Stop. Stop. Stop.”
“Just like that.”
“I’m confused as hell,” she said as she sank onto the couch. “What’s happening in this town is so strange I don’t know how to process it.”
He settled close to her, his arm on the back of the couch, his hard thigh along hers. “Things like this have happened before.”
“Like this?”
“People in little towns get crazy and obsess sometimes. They do the witch hunt thing, just as they have with Halloween. Their lives are as simple as the name of this town, and they don’t understand the richness of the world. They don’t believe in live and let live.”
She gazed up at him and her admiration grew. “You’re one smart Marine.”
He laughed, and it came out hardy and genuine. The smile on his face, the biggest she’d seen on him yet, made him so damned gorgeous she thought she might drool. God, did he have any idea what he did to her? How he made her nuts? His masculine scent assaulted her equilibrium, drawing her deeper into his spell.
“Tell me what else is bothering you,” he said.
“Everything that’s happened. Think about it. I almost got run over and so did you. People have murdered each other in road rage, houses are getting broken into. Now Jilly’s boyfriend was killed in front of us. Don’t you think it’s odd?”
He cupped the back of her neck and massaged. The heat and gentleness of his hands eased the tightness in her muscles, and the intimacy of the gesture sent swirls of arousal curling in her lower belly. “Yeah, but it’s not paranormal. There’s a logical explanation.”
“How did Jilly know what I’d dreamed? And you saw something or felt something in the basement at Tranquil View that you aren’t telling me. How did she know that?”
He withdrew his touch. “She guessed.
Frustration made her growl as she stared at him. “For cripes sake, Roarke. Don’t you know skepticism like that is as bad as believing in everything?” When he stared into the distance without saying anything, Melissa continued. “I saw your face when she mentioned something happening in the basement. She hit things dead on didn’t she?”
Doubt flickered in his eyes, as if he didn’t know whether to admit it. “The electrician acted weird and said weird things. By the time he finished talking about the place being evil and haunted, I let myself get creeped out. That’s all that happened. Can we put away put away the supernatural stuff and move on?”
“That’s hard for me, Roarke.” She tapped her chest. “Look, there’s something you don’t understand that maybe you should. You know some of the history of Tranquil View, right?”
He shrugged. “Some.”
“Well, it wasn’t until after I was grown up that my mother told me about our family history on her side. She told me when my father was deployed, because he would have been royally pissed if she told me.”
“Why?”
“You and my father have that much in common, like I told you before. Skepticism. Hard-assed adherents to black and white. My mother, Wilma Sue Healy Allan, is a descendent of Lilly Luna Healy and Morgan Healy. Lilly was born in Tranquil View Asylum. She married Morgan Healy, the son of the man who helped his daughter kill all those women.”
Roarke shifted until he faced her
, his attention now focused entirely on her, obvious curiosity in his eyes. “Masterson Healy?”
“The same.”
Melissa explained the rest, uncertain what he’d already heard. Masterson Healy, first superintendent of the asylum, had covered up his daughter’s insanity and serial killings. Lilly Luna, who’d been raised at the asylum, was reputed to have had great psychic capabilities, and had become romantically involved with the son, Morgan Healy. Murder and mayhem had ensued at the asylum, and Morgan’s mother had killed the daughter in self-defense. Morgan and Lilly had barely survived the daughter’s murderous wrath.
“Most of it was hushed up,” Melissa said. “Anyway, Morgan and Lilly moved to Denver and started a family. One of their sons, Thaddeus Healy, was my grandfather. My mother is his only child.”
Roarke blinked, and she could tell the information blew him away.
“Does anyone else in town know this?” he asked.
“Only Henrietta.”
He scrubbed his chin, which was dark now with evening stubble. “I can see why you wouldn’t tell a lot of people. The fruitcakes would connect you with the other things going on in town if they knew your connection to Tranquil View. Wait a minute ... is that why you came to Colorado?”
“In part. I felt drawn here. I wanted to understand that connection to the asylum.”
“Why did you tell me all this?” His question brushed softly over her ears.
“Because I thought maybe it would explain to you who I am and my understanding of the supernatural. That I’m not making things up.”
He left the couch and headed to the kitchen. “Coffee is ready. Want some?”
She sighed. “Yeah. Sure.”
After he brought coffee to her, he sat with his own mug and sipped slowly. When he didn’t say anything, Melissa decided he thought she was the nuttiest one in the bowl.
“Hello.” She waved a hand. “What are you thinking?”
He took another sip of the steaming coffee and put his mug on he coffee table. “I don’t know what to make of it. It doesn’t convince me that paranormal occurrences are real.”
“Grrrr.” She shook her fist playfully at him. “Damn you, Roarke. What does it take to get things through that thick skull of yours.”
He smiled, but it was over in a heartbeat. “Just the facts ma’am.”
“Friggin’ Marines.” She sighed, tired of fighting his stubborn streak. “Tell me more about your life in the military. Why did you join? Were you already this stubborn when you entered the military?”
One corner of his mouth twisted long enough to express chagrin. “I joined to make my father proud.” He held up one hand. “I know. Big mistake. I was too young to get it through my thick skull, as you say. My father isn’t the kind of man who’s going to show his pride for his son out loud. He’s hard as hell to please.”
“Yet you stayed in?”
“In Basic I realized that I liked being a Marine, and the more I did it, the more I loved it.” His expression went grim. “I made it through Afghanistan by the skin of my teeth and after two tours, I decided enough was enough. I was tired. Very tired.”
“What do you want to do next?”
“Find my mother.”
“Of course.” Melissa winced. “I’m so sorry. You’ve got your mother to worry about.”
“I don’t talk much about the war because that isn’t my life anymore. My life is here trying to find out what happened to my mother. What can I whip us up for dinner?” he asked, hands on the counter.
“I thought I was going to cook.”
“Nah. I can do it.”
“Eggs then. I think that’s all I could stomach.”
So they ate mushroom, ham, and cheese omelets, most of the time quietly. They didn’t turn on the television or listen to the radio, and she assumed he was as afraid as she was that he’d see a news report featuring Jilly’s boyfriend and the horrid accident. She helped him wash the dishes. Silence surrounded them and the quiet lived and breathed.
After that, he headed for his coat. “I’d better go. You look exhausted, and I’m not exactly awake either. We could both use some sleep.”
As she stood at the doorway with him, she said, “Thanks again for supporting me. For everything.”
“Anytime.”
He cupped her face with one had and brushed a warm stroke over her cheek. God, she could feel that all the way to her core.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.
After he left, she locked the door and leaned against it. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting feelings and emotions. She went to the phone and called Henrietta.
When Henrietta answered, Melissa said, “Hi. You’re not going to believe what happened to me and Roarke this afternoon.”
Chapter 13
Roarke’s cell phone rang Friday morning right after he'd eaten breakfast. He snatched the phone up from the coffee table and saw his father’s name flash on the screen. “Dad.”
“Son.” His father’s voice had a heavy, burdened quality. “How are you? It’s been a long time since you’ve called.”
“I’ve been busy.” Roarke heard the coldness in his own voice. “How are you?”
“Good. I ... there’s something I need to tell you.” The colonel sounded odd, almost self-conscious and hesitant. “It’s extremely important.”
Roarke didn’t want drama. He’d experienced enough with his parents. “What is it?”
“I’m getting married.”
Roarke froze. “What?”
“You met her some months back. Before your mother disappeared.”
The woman you were fucking while still married to Mom. “Xandra,” Roarke said instead.
“Yes.” His father’s voice held relief. “We’re going to Tahoe next weekend. We’re having a private ceremony. We wanted you to know. We aren’t having any guests.”
Roarke took a deep breath and let it escape slowly. Anger continued to sizzle, but it clogged his throat and made it impossible to express honest emotion.
“Son?”
“Yeah.”
“I know this must come as a shock to you. With all that’s happened with your mother, I know it’s stressful. That’s why we’re keeping our marriage low key.”
Roarke didn’t know what to say. He struggled with words and they emerged like rocks tumbling down a hill. “Dad, you know what I think. You’ve always known what I think about you hooking up with a woman twenty years your junior while you were still married. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. You’ll do what pleases you first. It’s the way it’s always been.” Roarke’s throat burned with desire to say more, the anger inside him burning brighter and hotter as seconds passed. He couldn’t control it as the rage spilled over, a volcano of disgust for his father. “Go enjoy yourself. I don’t even give a rat’s ass when your wedding is. Have a great time. Goodbye.”
Shaking, Roarke ended the call and stared at the screen on his smart phone as if it might have an answer or talk back. Determination to act more like a man and less like a teenager abandoned him, and it stripped him bare. Anger with himself mingled with that for his father and the woman he planned to marry. He put the cell phone back on the coffee table before he could chuck it across the room. He seethed and hoped the turbulent mix of emotions would dissolve.
The sound came to him slowly. It was the weary sobbing of a female in distress. His mother’s journal had talked about hearing a woman sobbing, but there was no damned reason for it. No one lived on the other side of this apartment, and Pearl lived too far down the hallway. Could it be the tenant below him? He didn’t think the walls were that thin. He frowned and listened. Maybe he didn’t hear what he thought. The sound disappeared. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
A wail, a whistling moved through the condo. He stiffened at the uncanny sound. Could it be the wind? He walked to the window near the dining area and looked outside. From this angle he could see the recreation center. A man walked along the
pebbled path between the two buildings. He wore a suit and a hat that looked wrong.
Wrong. The word whispered in his ear, and he turned in surprise. What the frig? No one stood there, but he could have sworn a female voice had spoken to him. A familiar and once dear voice. Mother.
Hair on the back of his neck prickled again. He returned to gazing out the window, but the figure had vanished. Maybe Steele Company had hired people to reenact history? A worry started in the back of his mind, one he didn’t want to acknowledge. What if the sobbing and wailing had never happened? Could he have lied to Melissa when he said he didn’t have PTSD? No way. He left the condo and headed downstairs to the administration offices.
Once there, he saw Clemy and Linda talking with Jana. He felt like a fly walking into the lair of a Venus Flytrap or Black Widow. Either one could prove painful.
Linda saw him first, and her usual truthful, friendly self turned officious. She was probably pissed that he’d turned down her sexual favors. “Roarke.”
“Hey Linda. Has Steele Company hired anyone to do reenactments? You know, dressed in costume. Or maybe there’s someone around who is participating in the haunted house who is wearing an old suit?”
She screwed up her little nose. “Not that I know of.” She glanced Clemy’s way. “You heard of anything like that?”
“No.” Clemy’s smooth as silk voice glided over him. She always sounded like she was trying to seduce a man, no matter how mundane the words. “Maybe it was a ghost.”
Roarke grunted. “Right.”
“Where did you see the man?” Linda asked.
“Walking toward the recreation center.”
Clemy’s face brightened. “Oh, then you’ve finally seen him. People have been seeing that ghost for decades. No one knows who he is.”
Linda echoed the grunt Roarke had made earlier. “Don’t spread rumors like that. We already have issues because that Jilly girl caused so much trouble the other night.”
Shadows Fall Page 15